


B0tn4rd'5 Pr0gr4mm1ng

by ChainSmokesPens



Category: Original Work
Genre: Flash Fic, Robots, Russian Roulette, contemporary fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28572108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChainSmokesPens/pseuds/ChainSmokesPens
Summary: The prompt was that you, knowing that the bullet is during a game of Russian roulette, say, "Apologies. It is against my programming to self-terminate."





	B0tn4rd'5 Pr0gr4mm1ng

The Jameson leaked from the corners of Rory's mouth as he downed twenty ounces from the forty-ounce bottle. He spun the revolver's chamber and placed the gun to his head.

Click.

Rory sighed in relief, dropping the gun onto the table like it had tried to bite him.

Tyson picked it up next. He didn't drink or panic or posture. He picked it up, spun the chamber, and put the trigger against his head.

Click.

He chuckled and handed it off the Bernard. Bernard took the revolver in both hands. His hands carried it the way a grandmother would carry a fallen baby bird, but his eyes held the terror one would expect from a small child holding a two-headed snake. He gave it the hardest spin he could and quickly put the barrel against his head.

Then it stopped. The mechanical sound of the barrel spinning stopped. It didn't slow down like it had before; it stopped spinning abruptly. Like a sprinter colliding with a brick wall, the rotation stopped. Like leaping from a diving board to perform a belly flop, the rotation stopped. Like Bernard's heart when he walked in on his girlfriend in bed wit his brother, the rotation stopped.

Bernard's eyes darted quickly between his friends. He could feel the barrel of the gun shaking against his head as his hand trembled. Then, he got an idea.

"Apologies. It is against my programming to self-terminate."

Rory and Tyson looked at each other skeptically before turning back to their friend. "Your what?" Rory asked, belching up the last word.

Bernard dropped the gun like it was hot. "Yeah. Beep. Can't self-terminate. It's against my programming."

Tyson spoke next. "So you can't kill yourself?"

"Bleepity boop. No. I literally can not; I'm not alive."

"Right. So you can't self-terminate?"

"That's correct."

"Ah!" Rory said, pointing at one of the three Bernard's he was seeing. "That's a contraction!"

"What?"

"I don't know much about robots, but I do know they don't use contractions."

"Sorry. Boop. It was included in my vernacular download. I haven't cleared that cache yet."

"Alright, Mr. Robot." Tyson leaned in and grabbed his shot of vodka. "Who's your programmer?"

"That is classified. Beep."

"Got a serial number?"

"That is classified. Beep boop."

"What are Asimov's three laws of robotics?"

"Bloop. That is classified."

There was lingering silence for a moment. Rory and Tyson exchanged a series of facial expressions before facing their robot friend again. "Everybody knows the three laws of robotics."

"They do? Bleep. This new information must be stored."

Rory counted on his fingers. "Don't hurt humans. Obey orders. And protect yourself. In that order."

"That sounds reasonable. However, I am allowed to avoid performing activities that I believe to be threatening to my health."

"Health?" Rory choked out.

"Programming. Bleepity bloop. Zero-one-zero-zero-one."

Tyson pulled the gun up and pointed it at Rory's head. "I order you to let me shoot Rory."

"What?" two voices asked, one following up with a "beep" sound.

"Yeah. You think that this round is a dangerous one. So clearly there's a bullet in here."

"Beep, that is ill-advised."

"Don't worry about it. It doesn't endanger you and you aren't guilty of pulling the trigger. All you have to do is obey orders in this case."

Bernard's eyes hopped between his two friends. "Error. Error. Do not go through with this. Beep."

"No man, it's fine," Rory slurred. "Just follow your programming and we'll believe you."

Bernard's eyes grew wider. "Beep! I'm trying to save you asshole! Boop!"

Tyson raised his hand in a soothing manner. "Hey, Bernard, relax. You can tell your machine overlords that it was all a misunderstanding. Just a bunch of guys, two got too drunk, and one died. That doesn't compromise you, so you won't be recalled. Or whatever happens to you robots."

"Beep. Hold on."

"I'm gonna do it." Tyson cocked the hammer. "Three."

"Boop. Wait!"

"Two."

Rory raised his Jameson bottle in a salute. "It's been nice knowing you, Botnard." He threw his head and the bottle back, chugging.

"One."

"Stop!"

Bernard leapt across the table, knocking ever glass and bottle off. His fist knocked into Tyson's hand, pushing it up. The surprising reaction made his hand twitch. And he pulled the trigger.

The gun fired, the Jameson bottle shattered. Sand-sized shards of glass and the sixteen remaining ounces of liquor rained onto Rory, who, for his part, stared dumbfounded at the ceiling.

No one moved for a full minute, partially out of shock, partially out of waiting for their hearing to return.

Rory was the first to speak. "So, you're like one of those omnipotent, big brother type AIs right?"


End file.
